


Secret Gifts

by aphreal



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphreal/pseuds/aphreal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is leaving Sigrun presents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Secret Swooper gift exchange.

Sigrun studied the carved bead thoughtfully and somewhat suspiciously. It was a yellowish-white cylinder about the length of her thumb, its outer surface etched with delicate black lines that formed an intricate scene she didn’t really understand but found fascinating and beautiful. A hole was drilled through its core, and a leather cord had been strung through it, letting the bead turn freely when she poked at it curiously. She thought it was supposed to be jewelry, but it didn’t look quite like anything she’d seen before, and that intrigued her. She continued slowly spinning the bead, admiring it with a growing sense of excitement and curiosity. 

The thing itself was almost as much of a mystery as where it had come from. She’d found it sitting on her pillow, the most recent in a long line of perplexing little items that turned up from time to time. Sigrun glanced up at the shelf that held part of her eclectic collection, smiling at the snow globe and the potted plant, the first gifts she’d gotten when she came to the surface. The plant was looking a little bit droopy and sad with the limited light it got in her quarters, but she kept the globe polished and free of dust. Sigrun had been touched when the Warden Commander had given them to her, along with the spyglass she carried on scouting missions and a few other little items. Anders had smirked at her enthusiasm, and Velanna had turned her nose up at the gifts, deeming them tacky and useless. But that was the entire point. 

Sigrun had never had useless things before. Life as a duster or a legionnaire left little room for anything that wasn’t functional, practical, necessary. It wasn’t until she’d become a Warden that Sigrun had the luxury to own things simply because she liked them or found them interesting. The Commander had seemed to understand that without being told, and Sigrun had been grateful for the tokens of her newfound flexibility. She treasured the silly little gifts more than she would have been able to explain or willing to admit, keeping them as a reminder of unexpected compassion and kinship. 

She hadn’t expected to receive any more gifts after the Commander returned to Denerim, so it had been a huge surprise when the trinkets began appearing in her room. She would find them periodically, left somewhere visible – her chair, the bed, or sometimes on the shelf with the others – while she was busy and her quarters were locked. They were never particularly valuable items, just everyday things that would be interesting novelties to a stone-raised dwarf girl: a fan made from brightly-colored feathers, a funneled device for measuring rain, a chart of patterns to look for in the stars. 

Sigrun had loved these small glimpses of surface life. She’d carried the fan with her everywhere until Ser Pounce-a-lot nearly destroyed it. Her outraged reaction had led to a furious row with Anders and the fan remaining safely on her shelf, out of reach of prying feline claws. The star chart had joined it after the third time the new Commander – a stuffy Orlesian with no sense of humor – had found her climbing the Vigil’s roof when she was supposed to be sleeping before a morning weapons drill. 

Initially, she had assumed Varel was leaving the presents for her, on instructions from the previous Commander. As Seneschal, he would have access to any room in the Keep and was a logical choice to act as the Commander’s proxy. But when Sigrun had tried to thank the man, he had claimed ignorance, looking genuinely perplexed. She couldn’t think of a reason he would lie about something so trivial, so she had no choice but to believe that he wasn’t involved. Which left the gifts’ source a complete mystery. 

She frowned thoughtfully at the necklace, turning the bead idly around its leather cord as she considered the puzzle of its origin. 

Anders, passing by in the hallway, stuck his head in the door. “What do you have there?” he asked, quick and nosy as ever. 

“No idea,” Sigrun responded cheerily, holding the carved bead up for his inspection. 

“Oh, scrimshaw.” His tone was mildly interested as he took it and ran his fingers over the delicate traceries. 

“Scrimwhat? Never heard of it. Is that a surfacer thing?” 

“Sort of. It’s a type of sailor art,” he answered casually. “They’re usually carved on ships. It’s popular in Rivain.” 

Sigrun eyed him suspiciously, still trying to find the source of her unexpected trinkets. “Why do you know so much about it?” 

Anders shrugged, handing the scrimshaw bead back to her. “I’ve learned about a lot of things in the Tower. And even more running away from it.” His grin was suggestive but guileless, and Sigrun crossed him off her mental list of suspects. He wouldn’t have had the patience to keep up the ruse for this many months, anyway. 

“Okay, so tell me about this scrimshaw. What is it?” 

“Drawings carved and inked into the bones or teeth or tusks of whales, which are giant sea creatures like fish, big enough to swallow a person whole.” 

Sigrun looked at him skeptically, but he didn’t seem to be making it up. She peered at the carvings on the bead more closely. Now that she was thinking about it in the context of sailors, she thought maybe the pictures were supposed to look like water with things in it, some of which were kind of fish shaped. “Is that what these are?” 

Anders glanced at the section of carvings she indicated and nodded. “Probably, yeah. They look kind of like fish, and if that over there is meant to be a ship, they’re pretty big fish in comparison.” 

Sigrun continued to be suspicious, wondering if he was pretending to know more than he really did. She shrugged and decided to accept him at face value. It was the best explanation she was likely to get without knowing where the bead had actually come from, and she liked having a story to go with her present. 

She flicked the bead with the tip of her finger, grinning as she watched it rotate around its leather cord. Impulsively, she held the cord up to her throat, discovering that it was just long enough to wear as a necklace, the bead resting comfortably atop her collarbones. She tied it on and then ran a finger over the carved ivory, finding the delicate patterns as interesting to the touch as to the eye. 

Sigrun glanced at her reflection in the mirror and smiled broadly, the foreign ornament making her feel a little exotic herself. Then Anders distracted her with some ridiculous comment about a sailor woman he’d met briefly, and she followed him back down the hallway, bantering and smirking, occasionally raising a finger to touch the unfamiliar weight at her throat. 

 

Concealed in the shadows, Nathaniel watched her go with a fond smile, already contemplating what gift he could come up with next that would bring that look of wonder and joy to her face.


End file.
